


Ongoing Cosmic Jokes

by Ghelik



Series: Life after the Mountain [10]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Murphy needs a hug, Murphy-centric, Post-Mount Weather, Post-Season/Series 02, unbetad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point in his life, Murphy is sure the Universe hates him and will do everything in its power to screw him over. Needless to say, he's not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ongoing Cosmic Jokes

He should have been prepared, should have known because it’s always the same. But he wasn’t, and he didn’t, and now he’s trying not to panic inside the small box he finds himself in.

 

Murphy curls in on himself, head bouncing rhythmically between his knees and knuckles scraping against the wood on his back where they’ve bound them at the wrists.

 

He’s tied and gagged, has a bag over his head. The box is overkill. He knows the box is fastened to a horse because of the movement and the smell. Until now his dislike for these beasts wasn’t as intense as his hatred for goats; horses are big, imposing and strong, there are plenty of reasons to be wary, ok? But now he’s quickly revising his opinion on these ugly beasts.

 

Murphy concentrates on breathing, keeping his heart contained in his chest. He passes the time counting the beats of the hooves, but he keeps losing count and having to start anew. Whenever the horse stops, it takes him a moment to notice. He knows he’s panicking, but can’t seem to calm himself.

 

The horses stop four times to rest, and he’s watered and fed twice. Both times he has to try hard not to pee his pants when the lid of his box is yanked open with a wooden squeak, and he’s pulled up by the back of his neck.

 

He knows he can’t flee, so he sits there and obediently eats everything they put to his mouth, drinking greedily when they put a pelt full of water to his lips. His throat is too dry, and he has to fight down every bite, but he does most definitively not fight them. The gag comes back in and the bag down. They push him into the box again, but a hand guides his head so that he doesn’t slam it against the walls by accident.

 

Murphy’s the poster-boy for cooperation, and that earns him kudos, – and by kudos, he means not being kicked around and being left in peace. He even gets a bathroom break at some point, which he’s incredibly grateful for. Not all grounders are so considerate of their prisoners, he knows.

 

He listens to them talk in their heavily accented trigedasleng. He doesn’t know to which clan that accent belongs to - Emori and he haven’t traveled enough to encounter it before. They’re careless, making crude jokes and teasing one another in a way that makes it clear they don’t think they’re being followed; they don’t fear being attacked.

 

Murphy does most definitively not think about their good spirits and how that terrifies him more than the brooding silences of… Previous encounters. And really shouldn’t it be high time for other sky people to be kidnaped? He has got his fill of the experience, let others try it.

 

The soft noise of hooves beating on dirt, the rustling of leaves and chirping of birds turns into the hard clap of hooves on stone, the gabble of busy streets. Words echo on walls, horses whine, a dog barks somewhere. There’s a lot of noise as someone heaves his box. Voices change around him and the movement of the box changes, too. The box clatters to the ground at some point, sliding down what he thinks is a couple of steps before being picked up again.

 

He has to bite his tongue not to cry out in pain.

 

The top of his box is yanked open. Light floods his bag-covered eyes, and someone pulls him out by his neck. It’s still better than being dragged around by his hair, so there’s that…

 

The bag is suddenly off, and Murphy blinks back tears from the sudden light, trying to focus on the room around him. It takes him a moment.

 

He stands in a large vaulted stone room, in front of a wooden dais. There are large arched windows, flooded with pale light. He can see the sky and treetops in the distance through the frost-covered glass. Luxurious drapes and faded tapestries decorate the walls lined with wooden tables and comfy chairs. On the dais stand three thrones. The one in the middle is the biggest, covered in dark furs that highlight the older woman sitting all regal in it; she has dirty blond hair, cold gray eyes, and scars all over her face and hands. She might have been beautiful if not for that pinched expression, the mad glint in her eye and the downturned thin lips. Blond-and-Pissed wears leather pants and leather bodice; a tiara sits on her braided hair, rings and bracelets glint softly on her arms. There’s a very long sword resting against the side of her chair.

 

On the throne to her right sits a teen boy, with round blue eyes and a gap between his front teeth, also dressed in leather, and crowned with a tiara. On the side of his face are abrasion marks, angry red like they’ve just been put there. He’s leaning forward, looking at Murphy with open curiosity.

 

To Blonde-and-Pissed’s left sits a girl, a little older than Tooth-Gap, with brands and scars all over her face. She’d be pretty if not for the savage glint in her dark eyes. She’s not wearing any crown or any sort of ornament, for that matter. There is a sword on her lap, and she’s playing with a wicked looking knife.

 

Murphy’d rather take his chances with Tooth-Gap, or even Blonde-and-Pissed than with that madwoman.

 

The grounders around him are talking, boasting on how they hunted him down, how it was so easy to separate him from the group and how they made him run right into their trap.

 

Murphy studies the faces around him. The soldiers are relaxed, the trio on the dais look at him with matching calculating expressions.

 

He takes everything in as quickly as possible and decides that the dumb card might be his best option. He schools his expression to feign cluelessness and a healthy amount of terror.

 

He doesn’t have to pretend to flinch when they suddenly bark something at him. They push him forward, making him trip out of the box. He crashes to the ground, knocking his chin on the stone floor. Pain shoots up, and his brain decides to desert him for a moment or two.

 

His heart beats hard against his ribs, his head muddled with a sudden burst of fear, and he’s fighting with the bonds on his wrists even though he knows there’s no point. They’re barking around him like rabid dogs, and he can’t understand a word even though his trigedasleng is flawless, thank you very much. 

 

Murphy curls in on himself when they kick him for not answering. He only cries out once before biting his tongue.

 

At some point, Scarface on the chair to  Blond-and-Pissed's left sits forward and asks in English: "What is your name?"

 

He perks up.

 

"Murphy," he answers promptly because that’s what he was waiting for and how stupid are these people? Don’t they know skaikru only speak English? He gets a boot to his back and tries to look indignant. Scarface quirks an eyebrow. "Err… Murphy kom skaikru?" he tries in a terrible trigedasleng accent and people around him laugh.

 

"I see," says Blonde-and-Pissed on the throne. "Tell me _Mofi of the Skaikru_ what do you know of the Azgeda traitor your people are currently housing?"

 

"I know nothing of an Asgeda traitor," he says, messing the name as much as humanly possible.

 

Azgeda is the Ice Nation; he rakes his brain for information.

 

In his _former_ line of work, information was essential; one has to know as much as possible about the people you can find on the road. What does he know of the Ice Nation?

 

 They live in the north, the Queen's a dangerous bitch, people hate her guts. There was a failed coup a few years back… What else? What else does he know? At some point, the queen insulted the _Heda_ , but he can’t remember exactly how, but she must be very powerful if the commander didn’t just finish her off.

 

Murphy knows he’s on thin ice here: he has to be useless enough to be thrown into a dungeon but not expendable enough to be killed and sent to their people.

 

"The traitor," continues Blonde-and-Pissed with her heavily accented English that rolls the ‘r’s far too much and messes up all the ‘s,' "was seen entering your camp by my warriors. Are you calling my men liars?"

 

"You mean Clarks’ buddy?"

 

Tooth-Gap blinks up at Blonde-and-Pissed.

" _Klork_?" really the way they mess all their names up is starting to get ridiculous.

 

"People seem to be calling her Wanheda these days," he supplies, always happy to help.

 

Blonde-and-Angry fixes him with an angry stare. Murphy shuts up, managing to look smug and chastised at the same time. It’s a look he’s been perfecting since he was seven.

 

He lets it set in for a moment: he’s on first name basis with Wanheda, that ought to be leverage enough.

 

"What was the relationship between Wanheda and the traitor?"

 

He shrugs with an eye-roll, that can be interpreted however the queen wants.

 

The smile on Blonde-and-Angry is extremely dangerous.

 

"And what does Wanheda think of you?"

 

He matches the smile with one of his own. Let her think what she wants when he delivers the line as flippantly as humanly possible. "She doesn’t like me very much."

 

The queen sits back, rubbing her bottom lip absently with a scar-covered hand. The rings glinting and throwing dancing lights all around her cheeks.

" _Find out if he can be useful to us,"_ she says in trigedasleng, and the bag comes back on.

 

Bags are good. They mean he won’t be able to recognize where he’s. Which means it’s important he doesn’t know. You don’t bag someone you’re going to kill. He repeats that in his head like a mantra for the whole way to the dungeon.

 

***

 

Of his tortures his least favorite is Henry. Murphy decides that around the time he re-breaks one of his hands. He doesn’t know how long he’s been there. The drafty dungeon doesn’t have any windows, is continuously lit and there’s no sort of rhythm to the meals he gets or the times he’s left alone to doze. He’s not sure what he tells his tortures but makes a valiant effort not to say anything to Henry.

 

He gives information to Astrid – a no-nonsense-middle-aged woman with light brown hair and a robust jaw. She’s his favorite since she’s the only one who doesn’t hang him close enough to the ground that he can sort-of brush it with the tips of his toes. She’s also the only one who puts his shoulder back in whenever it gets dislocated.

 

Astrid likes to talk, will give him some scraps of information for him to try and keep his mind from spiraling. “It’s snowing, that’s why it’s so fucking cold down here”; “my boys hunted a deer today”; “the preparations for the winter festival are on their way. I am so excited”. Murphy is sure she suspects he can understand trigedasleng but hasn’t said anything yet, so he’s still playing stupid whenever they bark questions at him in grounder.

 

The day Scarface enters the dungeon Murphy’s trying – and failing – not to scream his lungs out. Scarface looks him up and down with a dangerous, calculating look before turning to the torturers.

 

Astrid is the one who answers all her questions – while Henry murders Murphy with a withering look. He only half listens to the warriors, his mind too fuzzy with pain to care about anything.

 

After half an eternity Scarface saunters over to him, inspecting his body thoughtfully, like its some curious prize. Her eyes are cold, and he’s automatically afraid of her. So he bites down the pain and the aching throb of his left arm and plasters his best smile – the one that always got him treats at the Ark's Exchange – on his face.

" _Bring him to my chambers,"_  she barks turning on her heel and marching out.

 

Murphy has a very – very – bad feeling about this.

 

*** 

 

Scarface’s name is Ontari. She’s the Queen’s right hand, her protector, and advisor and there’s nobody the Queen trust more than her – not even her second son Jan, the current heir to the throne. 

 

Murphy is aware that he’s had luck landing on Ontari’s good graces. He’s many steps above meat-sack now. The fact that he’s a concubine doesn’t even bother him. It does not. The perks outweigh the downsides: he has food, water, a soft mattress on which to sleep. Ontari is beautiful enough, and if he has to please her in ways he hasn’t pleased anybody other than Emori… Well… He’s used to doing things he doesn’t like.

 

What he hates the most is the heavy iron collar and the heavy iron chain linked to it. With everything else, he can deal, but the clinking of the chain makes him shudder. The sharp tug when he steps too far has him fighting off panic attacks. He has scratches all around his throat from when he tries to pull it off in his sleep, or during his panic attacks.

 

Ontari watches him closely whenever those happen, and Murphy’s sure they give her some sort of sick pleasure.

 

There are a lot of things Murphy is: stupid is not one of them. Survival is in his blood, and he learns quickly, has done so all his life. He learns quickly to read Scarface’s moods.

 

Ontari loves to cuddle. She also likes his nose and his hair. What she dislikes is people talking to her, finds a lot of things patronizing or insulting. She doesn’t mind a bit of rebellion – seems to find satisfaction in proving she’s stronger than him and will even encourage him to fight back as long as he doesn’t openly disobey her or ridicule her in front of anyone else. He finds out he can get away with as much snark as he wants.

 

She doesn’t like chit-chat – which seems to be a common trait among all grounders- but enjoys being _listened_ to, needs minimal prompting to speak her mind. That’s how Murphy discovers she hates the Queen’s son, Jan, who’s supposed to marry her at some point. She thinks Jan’s weak.

 

"Weaker even than you, sky boy," she smiles carding her fingers through his hair in what he’s learned is her way of showing affection, and biting his side. "A real man wouldn’t just sit back while his future queen keeps a harem."

 

"Maybe he’s enlightened," he answers and gets a glare in return.

 

When he’s good, he gets gifts: a fur-coat that keeps him warm and is probably the most beautiful thing he’ll ever own. He gets better food and walks through the castle, which is a maze of stone corridors, small drape-covered color-glass windows. Along the walls hang tapestries and crooked paintings that look like splashes of color.

 

His favorite is an explosion of reds and greens with a shadow that looks like a dolphin jumping out of a pool of blood. Ontari tells him it's supposed to represent the Descend of the First Commander from the Sky, but he sees a dolphin. Dolphins have been his favorite animal ever since he was three and got an already colored coloring-book full of animals from his dad.

 

He gets to sit next to Ontari at the dinner table – which makes him feel less like a dog, even if he’s still wearing the collar - whenever she doesn’t have to attend court. He can eat as many sweet pastries as he wants, which is good because he’s storing strength for his escape.

When she does go down to the throne room, Murphy has to kneel next to the throne, his leash tied to Ontari’s belt, her hand playing absently with his hair.  

 

*** 

 

Sleep doesn’t come easily in Ontari’s bed. He keeps having nightmares and most nights is too scared of waking her up to sleep. Murphy puts sleep off as long as possible, taking cat naps whenever he’s left alone in her room, which happens less and less as time passes. 

 

It’s not an efficient way to be rested. He knows.

 

One night he wakes up clawing at the rope around his neck gasping for breath, only to find it’s an iron collar. It takes a moment to recognize where he is: not in the woods but on a comfortable bed, covered in furs and pillows. The chain digs into his back where he rolled on it and tugs on his collar. That’s why he can’t breathe.

 

He sits up, gasping, pulling the chain back around his body so that the large paddock hangs in front of him and stops choking him. 

 

His hands shake, and he can feel tears on his cheeks. He looks at Ontari, who’s lying beside him.

 

For a moment he thinks she’s still asleep. Then the moonlight makes her eyes glimmer, and he freezes. She’s fixed him with an unblinking stare.

 

"You woke me," she grumbles.

 

"Well, sue me," he snarks before he can stop himself.

 

Instead of putting the knife he knows is under her pillow through his ribs, she smiles and tugs on his chain until he lies down next to her again.

 

Ontari likes spooning. Emori liked spooning, too and Murphy is not sure he’ll ever be able to do it with her again after this. He liked cuddling with Emori, felt safe in her arms, loved the weight of her deformed hand on his chest.

 

Murphy pushes that thought back with all his might.

 

He needs to think like a survivor, not like a love-sick puppy. He could be love-stricken when he was safe. He’s not anymore – he knew this moment would come, because… well… When has good stuff ever lasted? At this point, he’s sure his life is the butt of some sick cosmic joke.

 

So he pushes the love-sick part of him into a tiny box, right next to the box with the angry-angry and hate-filled part of him that will eventually get him killed.

 

"Stop squirming," growls Ontari, her arms around his waist feel wrong. He stops moving. "Good."

 

"Do I get a cookie?" Murphy mumbles under his breath to get some of the tension off his chest.

 

Behind him, Ontari huffs a laugh and cards her fingers through his hair. It feels nice. He could get used to this if he put a little more effort into it. Life as a concubine is probably not as bad as he thinks. 

 

Murphy closes his eyes, ignoring the scent of the woman at his back, the small tug of the chain and the heaviness of the collar.

 

Murphy likes to tell himself he’s learning; he’s buying time until he finds the way to escape. It’s been over a month since he was turned from prisoner to concubine, if the sky people were to come and rescue him, they would be here by now, so he guesses he’s on his own. Again. – He doesn’t let it sting too much. He doesn’t let himself miss them too much either.

 

Murphy doesn’t hate Ontari, not really. He would gladly put her wicked knife into her heart if he knew he could get away with it. But he doesn’t hate her, and he’s pretty sure she actually likes him- in her own particular and twisted way.

 

***

 

The day he gets his new collar, he has to fight down a great wave of nausea.

 

It happens out of the blue. Ontari comes in, carrying a box, opens the paddock on the front of his collar, makes him kneel at her feet and cleans the whole area with great care. It’s not the first time she's done so, and for a moment he doesn’t think anything of it. There are always blisters and bleeding scratches on his throat. They need to be cleaned regularly to prevent infection and usually, whenever Ontari bothers to do it herself, she tries not to hurt him too much.

 

Whenever the collar goes off, he breathes a sigh of relief, even though he knows it won’t last.

 

This time, when she finishes, instead of picking the hateful thing again, she opens her box and takes out the new collar.

 

It is actually a beautiful thing. Silver, with fine details all around it and his name engraved into the metal. The inside is lined with soft wool so that the skin won’t chafe as much.

 

But no matter how beautiful that thing is, Murphy is irrationally scared of it. He jumps to his feet as soon as he sees it, taking three steps back before he can think of what he’s doing.

 

"I think I like the other one better," he tries with a smile.

 

"Well, tough."

 

Murphy doesn’t stand a chance against her. Still, he puts up a fight which lasts all of half a minute. He ends up facedown on the floor, Ontari straddling his chest and his arms twisted behind his back. The collar goes on.  

 

It’s soft and snug against his throat. For a moment it feels like a rope. Then it’s just a metal ring.

 

She attaches the chain to the ring on the back and steps back.

 

Ontari watches him for a moment, a smug smile on her face.

 

"It suits you."

 

When she leaves, he curls on the floor and does not cry; he does not panic. The collar has a sort of finality to it. It feels like it won’t come off ever again. But he’s a fighter. He’s a survivor, and he’s slipped the trap before. He’ll do it again. The rope had a feeling of finality too, and he escaped it. He’ll do it again. He has to. 

Murphy sobs into his knees.

 

***

 

The court sessions are boring and drag on forever. He often dozes against Ontari’s legs while petitioners drone on and on. Ontari plays with his hair, the chain dangling very visibly from her belt to his neck.

 

This court session is no different, and Murphy has long stopped paying attention when suddenly the doors on the other side of the room bang open and the peasant petitioner jumps nearly out of his skin. He scurries quickly away when the small party of around ten step into the chamber. Three soldiers hurry to the Queen’s side. They wear trikru armor. Another trikru guard walks to the left of a commanding girl – she can’t be that much older than him - dressed in an armored coat with a length of fine orange cloth hanging from her shoulder. She strides into the room like it belongs to her.

 

Murphy’s drowsiness is instantly replaced with dread. To the young woman’s right stand two very familiar figures: he would recognize Clarke and Bellamy everywhere.

 

His throat is suddenly dry.

 

What are they doing here?

 

Ontari’s hand twists in his hair, and he feels his cheeks burning with something akin to shame. Which is really not fair, because he’s never felt ashamed of his position before.

 

The Queen smiles:  _"Heda_ ," she all but purrs in trigedasleng, " _to what do we owe the pleasure?"_

The Commander has to raise her head to look the Queen in the eye, but she manages to do so with arrogance.

" _I’ve come because you’ve acted against the coalition, Nia."_

Murphy had never heard the Queen’s name. If her expression is anything to go by, she’s not used to people using it either.

" _I would never!"_

 

He swallows back a laugh at the Queen’s false indignation.

" _You attacked the thirteenth clan, made moves against them on trikru territory and on their own land,"_ continues the Commander. Her eyes are painted black all the way to her hairline like a raccoon that’s been crying. Between her eyebrows, she has stuck a small cog. 

 

Ontari tugs on his hair, in a way that makes him shudder, but the sense of shame is still there, and he won’t make a sound. Maybe they’re all looking at the Queen, and skaikru won’t notice him.

" _You have also kidnaped one of ours_ ," growls Bellamy in flawless trigedasleng. He looks like he did after Charlotte: eyes aflame and muscles tight, ready to pounce. 

 

Murphy turns his head away.

 

The Queen smiles sweetly.

" _Skaikru attacked first. They sent Wanheda into our lands accompanied by a traitor to the crown and the clear intention of raising an army!"_

He sees Clarke clenching her jaw, blue eyes narrowed. Heda looks bored.

" _Skaikru has called upon …"_

_"Skaikru sent their Wanheda into our lands, with a dangerous criminal,"_ interrupts the Queen, all rightful indignation.  _"We wanted only to suppress a risk before it cost us three hundred warriors."_

Oh, that must sting.

 

Clarke’s face is completely blank, Bellamy, on the other hand, is nearly vibrating with concentrated tension.

" _How was I to know the heir to the land was one of the few people that slipped out before you sold them to the mountain?_ " Clarke gives her sweetest smile, and Murphy decides then and there that he doesn’t want to be on her bad side. Ever. That smile can bring down mountains. He’d rather face Ontari’s irrational rage.

" _It is not our fault skaikru doesn’t know what happens on the lands of the Coalition_."

" _And yet, skaikru knew to come to me when acts of war were made against them_ ," the Commander’s stare is icy. " _Over two months have passed since skaikru’s alleged attack. And I am still waiting for your ambassadors to claim reparations. Whereas Skaikru came to me."_

_"Azgeda doesn’t need Hedas’ interference. We are warriors, and if skaikru had any honor, they wouldn’t need to hide behind the Commander."_

Heda doesn’t seem to move. She stands at the dais' foot one second. The next she’s standing by the throne, her hunting knife slicing neatly through flesh and bone.

 

 The trikru soldiers jump up to restrain Jan. Ontari lurches forward, but Murphy digs his heels in, pulling on the chain and destabilizing her long enough for Heda’s bloody knife to land lightly against Ontari’s throat.

 

The Queen’s hand splats wetly on the floor. She looks horrified at the stump at the end of her arm, a low wail rising in the sudden silence.

" _I am Heda of the Thirteen Clans. And I will not be challenged!"_

Ontari sits back down, her eyes shooting daggers. _Heda_ takes a step back, cleaning her knife on the Queens’ sleeve.

" _Wanheda! Make sure she doesn’t die."_ Clarke rushes forward. The Commander keeps talking calmly like she hasn’t just amputated the Queen’s hand. " _I think you don’t respect my authority. I am taking your son back to Polis, where he will be my guest. Until I am sure of your allegiance to me_ ," she looks at Murphy for a long moment. " _And you will give the sky-boy  back to his people."_

_"You think you can come into my home, and challenge me… Take away my son as if I am not the leader of one of the strongest armies in these lands. I command ten thousand warriors!"_

The Commander stares the Queen down like she thinks she’s just a bug at her feet and it’s inconveniencing her.

" _And I have by my side the Natswis and Wanheda, who you claim are stronger than three hundred of your warriors each. My soldiers have surrounded this castle. And I have the loyalty of the Clans. Do you really want to challenge me?"_

_"You should be glad it’s only us two,"_ Bellamy seems too smug for his own good.

" _We could have brought the Fayalida_ ," adds Clarke under her breath, but loud enough to be heard by everyone.

 

The Queen purses her lips, but either due to blood loss or because she doesn’t see an out right now, she nods.

_"As the Commander demands."_

_"Release the boy. We will depart at first light. I expect accommodations for me and the ambassadors,"_ she points at Clarke and Bellamy.

 

Murphy tries not to sprint to Bellamy’s side as soon as the chain is unlinked from his collar– and probably fails miserably, but he feels like he can breathe again and he wants to be as far away from Ontari as humanly possible. He would run away and not stop until he reached his safe haven in Droptwo if it weren’t for Bellamy’s hand on his arm, securely anchoring him down.

 

***

 

He’s fled the room he’s supposed to be sharing with Clarke, Bellamy, and Kane. He’s rubbing the bandage Clarke has put around his throat. It feels oddly light without the collar.

 

Clarke and Bellamy have been staring at him and pretending they were not, asking questions in that convoluted way that some people ask questions: like they’re trying hard not to pry, but still want to know. Like they want to reassure him that they care about what happened and yet they would stop if he told them to. They’d been apologizing incessantly for taking so long. At some point, he told them he understands and that he didn’t expect them to come at all. At that, their faces had sort of… fallen and he had to run away.

 

Ontari finds him standing in front of the dolphin picture.

 

He’s been standing in front of the picture for a while now, trying to decide if he knows the way back to the quarters, and rubbing the bandages. He doesn’t see Ontari until she’s standing next to him. Close enough that he can feel the heat of her skin, but not enough to touch – which he’s secretly grateful for. He doesn’t want to touch her ever again.

 

"I knew I’d find you here," she whispers like it’s a secret.

 

He doesn’t answer. Maybe if he gives her the silent treatment, she’ll get the idea and leave.

 

They stare at the picture for a while. And then, because the universe hates him: "When I was five or six I found a puppy. It was hideous, had short legs and a very long body, with long stringy brown hair. I called it Mud."

 

"I’m sure it turned into a great bloodhound before you accidentally stabbed it in the eye."

 

Murphy can feel her angry stare on the side of his face but doesn’t turn around to look at her, just keeps staring at the dolphin.

 

"I cared for the ugly mutt," she growls, takes a deep breath and continues, calmer. "The Queen doesn’t like dogs."

 

"Curious, seeing as she’s a bitch," he says under his breath, and Ontari barks out a startled laugh.

 

"She found Mud and made me slit its throat."

 

There’s a moment of silence. Murphy frowns at the picture. "Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you or something? Just get yourself a new pet and get over it."

 

"I have a pet. I intend on getting it back."

 

It feels like a promise.

 

"Don’t bother. I already have a mistress."

" _Wanheda?_ " she spits like the name tastes bad and this time it’s him who laughs.

 

"It’s…" Emori’s name is halfway up his throat when he remembers: Ontari’s dangerous. Ontari’s a remorseless killing machine. "It’s not Clarke."

 

Ontari’s eyes sparkle in the dim light of the corridor. He’s suddenly very aware of how utterly alone they are.

 

"What could she possibly offer you that I cannot?"

 

"Are you serious right now?"

 

She steps into his personal space, backing him against the wall next to the painting. His mind decides to desert him altogether – the traitor - and he’s screwed…

 

"Murphy!" He’s never been happier with hearing Kane’s voice. "It’s late, you should be in bed."

 

He shoots out of his corner and to Kane’s side and walks beside him on the way back to their quarters.

 

"You shouldn’t be wandering around," says Kane after they’ve rounded a few corridors. "The Ice Nation isn’t thrilled with us."

 

"Yeah, I know. But the self-blame was starting to choke."

 

Kane nods like he understands. "They were worried about you. We all were."

 

Murphy doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps his mouth shut, trying to control his racing heart.

  

They leave in the morning. Jan sits straight-backed on his horse, a handmaiden sitting awkwardly on a donkey next to his personal guard. They’re one horse short, but Bellamy hauls Murphy up onto Cicero’s back and stares angrily at everyone. Clarke’s rides on her two-headed beast, next to the Commander’s gray mare. They ride out in silence, followed by the Queen’s angry stare and Ontari’s brooding. He latches onto Bellamy’s back because Cicero is enormous and he’s sure that he’ll fall off and break his neck, and he’s going back home, so there’s no way he’s going to risking it.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, this is unbetad. Thanks so much for reading and commenting


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